


shot through the heart

by pistolgrip



Series: sunshowers [2]
Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, First Kiss, Fluff, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 15:12:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14957015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pistolgrip/pseuds/pistolgrip
Summary: Through the panic of remembering she’ll be proposing soon, Silva remembers the first time she tried to kiss Song.(Triedto.)





	shot through the heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tweyen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tweyen/gifts).



> ties in with [the wolf's wedding](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14839671/chapters/34348158), but not necessary to read it beforehand!

“I’m gonna propose to Song,” Silva mutters to herself, crumbs dropping out of her mouth.

“Don’t talk with your mouth open, honey,” her mother says, ready for another morning of Silva’s nervous ramblings.

“Oh my god, I’m going to propose to Song tonight.” She runs her hands through her hair. “It’s finally happening. _Tonight.”_

“You’ve been saying that all month.” Cucouroux’s already used to the panic, simply patting her on the back while buttering her own toast. “And before you start this again, she isn’t gonna say no. I’m willing to bet good money that at this point? She’ll propose first.”

“Listen,” Silva says weakly, “I’ve been planning this for weeks. She can’t just _do_ that. She can’t just go and propose _first.”_

“Don’t tell me you forgot how your first kiss went.”

Silva groans, pushes her plate of breakfast ahead of her, and lays her forehead down on the breakfast table. Somewhere in the kitchen, her mother sings, “No existential crises before noon, dear!”

* * *

Five years ago, when Silva had joined the fencing team in the new term, she was ready for another round of kicking the asses of male undergrad students who thought they were hot shit. Why no other women ever joined the university’s recreational fencing team was always a mystery to her (until one of the guys walked up to her and tried to hit on her, at which point she _very_ quickly remembered why).

But the day she joined, there was another young woman with a naive-looking smile on her face, letting all the other guys try to talk to her. Rolling her eyes, Silva pushed through the small group and sat down next to her, putting her gear on.

“Hello,” the young woman said, and her voice was so light and melodious that Silva felt her heart stop for a second. “My name’s Song. I just started my first year here.”

“Guh,” Silva said, and then, “I’m Silva. Nice to meet you.” Getting her bearings back, she stood up. “Come find me after warm-ups. I’d like to do a bout, if that’s alright with you.”

She wasn’t sure what to expect from Song, but it wasn’t near-crushing defeat. She hadn’t felt that tested in a three-minute bout in ages, and after they saluted, Song removed her helmet and shook her hair out, and it wasn’t fair that someone could have natural golden hair that flowed as well as hers did, and it _really_ wasn’t fair that Song only sounded slightly out of breath when she said, “Good match!”

“Yeah,” Silva said as she wiped sweat from her brow. Her fringe was matting to her forehead and she was probably splotchy red with exertion, and Song had to go and look like _that._ “Yeah.”

The two of them paired up each practice; Song quickly learnt, just as Silva had, that no one else in the club came close to their skill level. They fell into a routine of meeting at practice before going out to eat afterwards, and from there it was a logical progression that they’d start meeting without needing the context of practices. Silva would wait for Song’s shift at the bakery to be over on multiple occasions, so much so that the other employees started to know her by name.

One of those days, before they had parted, Song had hesitantly offered a pair of tickets to see the orchestra from her friend that couldn’t make it; Silva had immediately accepted, mentally kicking herself at her enthusiasm, but if Song noticed, she didn’t say anything. Silva proceeded to spend the rest of the week digging through her closet for outfits, ending up on one of her homemade dresses, a deep blue that glittered like the stars. The night of the concert, she wore it several hours before she needed to pick Song up and twirled over and over in the mirror, letting her sisters fuss over accessorizing and fixing the fit of the dress.

Truthfully, she’d only asked them for their opinion in passing. They’d proceeded to call her a disaster—the entire time, she was worrying about the way she’d look next to Song, muttering under her breath about things that would go well with the seashell-white of the dress Song had texted her pictures of, her goldenrod hair spilling down her shoulders. “So nothing too purple-y, I guess. Maybe something a little darker, for contrast? Is this dress a bad idea?”

Camieux, standing on a stool, had draped the sheer blue shawl around her, and said, “Silva, if this girl likes you as much as you like her, I don’t think she’ll care much about whether you’re a few shades off or not.”

Cucouroux laughs. “Besides, you have to worry more about the shade of red your face is gonna be when you see her.”

“What do you mean, I _like_ her?” Silva choked, even though she knew exactly what Camieux meant; she was starting to notice her own feelings for Song as time passed, started to feel her heart race whenever she thought about spending time with Song, had even started talking about her to her family on multiple occasions. And she _wanted_ to bring Song home to meet her family. Ever since Song had talked about being homesick in a big city, Silva started to notice the way her eyes always lit up whenever she would talk about the family that she managed to make herself despite her own personal hardships, and her heart would ache to see Song so melancholy.

“Of course you do, silly,” Camieux had said, and patted her on the shoulder and stepping off the stool. Silva turned around again, letting the skirt fan out from side to side.

“Yeah,” she said, numbly. “Yeah, I really do.”

Putting a necklace around her, Cucouroux laughed. “You should ask her out, properly!”

“What if she doesn’t—”

“She _will,”_ Cucouroux said, tying back her hair. “And if she doesn’t, then she’s not worth it.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Silva says weakly, “She’s really, really, worth it.”

Camieux takes one hand, and Cucouroux takes the other, and they look at her in the mirror. “Then things will work out.”

* * *

She was a sight, dressed up as she was while rolling up to Song’s apartment in her beat-up car—but she definitely wasn’t as much of a sight as Song was, stepping down the cracked pavement in silver heels and her white mermaid dress, clutching her purse carefully. She felt the uncontrollable urge to get out of the car and open the door for Song, to kiss the back of her hand gently, to find out what Song was like when she blushed and smiled under attention.

She didn’t. Calming her nerves, she smiled at Song when she got in the car, and she started driving, trying to keep her hands busy so she wouldn’t give into the temptation to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Song’s ear. The concert hall was downtown, and Song said, as she watched the lights pass them by, “The city is always so bright. It hurts my eyes, sometimes.”

“The forest nearby is far enough from the city that you can see the stars,” Silva said, “We should go afterwards.”

“But your dress is so beautiful, I wouldn’t want you to get all muddy.”

With a noncommittal noise, Silva waved her hand. “Yours is nicer. I’ll carry you, I don’t wanna ruin yours.”

When Song didn’t say anything, Silva looked over at her to find her blushing.

The concert hall was beautiful, the music entrancing; Song praised it all the way back to the car, humming the pieces under her breath the entire night, wistfully talking about not having fancy concert halls back where she came from. Silva brought them out of downtown and started to take the winding road down to the trails, letting the city lights fade and the moonlight streaming through the trees guide their path more than the worn-down streetlights.

She parked and changed her heels out for a pair of sneakers, tires crunching against the gravel. “Let’s go,” she smiled, patting her own back, and a few seconds later she felt the warmth of Song’s weight against her back, heels similarly kicked off and left in the car. Shifting so they were more comfortable, she grabbed her legs and started walking out of the parking lot, across the trail.

At the sight of the hill, Song started to apologize, but Silva blew a raspberry. “What are you gonna do, walk up in your bare feet? I’m committed, now. We’re doing this.” Gripping her legs tighter, Silva made her way up the hill, despite Song’s complaints. “I come here to think, sometimes,” Silva said, between breaths. “There’s a bit of a trail and if you keep going, it overlooks the town, and that’s kind of like... its own set of stars. I’m sure the light pollution here is worse than wherever you came from, I’d love to see your skies one day.”

Song listened quietly as she rambled, her arms relaxing slightly. Silva was a little out of breath from the trek, but she was willing to keep talking if it helped Song not feel bad about the fact that she was willingly carrying her. She _wanted_ Song to see the stars.

She _wanted_ to see Song see the stars. To be happy.

At the top of the hill, Song hopped off Silva’s back and stood next to her, not making eye contact. “Back home,” she started to respond, “we didn’t have you, though.”

“Eh?” Silva whipped around to face her, feeling a light touch of fingertips against her waist, playing with the silky fabric her sisters had chosen for her. Song was looking at the dress with an intense look of concentration, and Silva would’ve thought it was completely about the dress if not for the pink dusting her cheeks.

“I just mean... you look beautiful in your dress, tonight.” Song sounded wistful as she traced the material with her fingers, then going back up to hold the shawl in her hands. “It’s almost like you shine as bright as the stars themselves.” Song had flushed completely red, and Silva was positive she wasn’t far off herself, mouth dropping open. Song finally looks up to make eye contact with her. “Sorry. Was that a little much?”

“No, that’s—” Silva tried to find the words, suddenly losing her grasp on the English language to express the joy she felt with Song’s companionship, both as an equal partner and as a friend, how to express that she was very, _very_ willing to be more than friends if Song would let her. “Can I kiss you?” she blurted out instead, and then immediately scrunched her eyes closed in embarrassment.

“...Oh!”

“No, sorry, _that_ was—”

Song grabbed both of her hands and pulled her in, kissing her lightly, promptly stopping any sort of apology she hadn’t even begun to form. Her lips were soft and overwhelmingly sweet, like honey, and Silva sighed. When Song pulled apart, it was with a hesitant look on her face. “Was that... Was that bad?”

Silva looked at her, brought a hand up to the side of her face and stroked her cheek. “That was perfect, actually. Couldn’t have said it better myself. I’d like to do that again.”

“Glad we’re on the same page,” Song giggled, and they leaned in to meet once again.

* * *

Her entire family is in the living room, fussing around her; she feels like she’s floating, almost disconnected from her body. “Keys?” Her mother asks, fixing her hair.

“Huh?” Silva says, shaking her mind from the memory. “I’m holding them.” She turns her car keys over and over in her hand nervously. Her hands smell like metal, and the grooves of her car keys are starting to imprint in her palms.

“Tickets?” Cucouroux says next, and Camieux holds them out.

“Putting them in the purse!” she says, tucking them in and making sure they don’t bend.

“And here’s the ring,” her father says warmly, pressing the small velvet box in the hand that’s not holding the keys. “That’s kind of important, I think.”

Silva opens her mouth to thank everyone, but instead a small choke comes out, overwhelmed by all the support. Everyone immediately stops what they’re doing and hugs her tightly, and Cucouroux clicks her tongue. “Silva, you’ll ruin your makeup! At least wait until you propose first to cry! You’ll be late if we have to fix your makeup!”

“You’re right,” Silva says, starting to feel stuffed up from impending tears. They’re going again to the orchestra that night for their upcoming anniversary, and if Song thinks she’s just gonna be dropped off at her apartment at the end of the night, she’s really got another thing coming for her. No _way_ she’s letting Song propose before she can. “I can’t leave her waiting.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> for sela, who asked to see more silva/song from the wolf's wedding verse!!  
> thank you <3  
> 


End file.
